PETER BUFFA -- Comments & Curiosities

What is that smell? Funny you should ask. It’s the amorphophallus titanum

-- if you must know, better known to you non-botanists as the corpse

flower.

I tried hard to pay no heed to this story in its last incarnation, but

it’s much too weird to ignore.

Last year, it was in San Marino. Today it’s in Fullerton. Tomorrow, it

could be right here, in the land of Newport-Mesa. They’re everywhere I

tell you. Everywhere.

In case you missed it, let’s review. The corpse flower -- also known as

the titan arum or Bunga Bangkai, which probably doesn’t mean anything

nasty but sure sounds like it -- is the largest and one of the most rare

flowers on Earth.

The Bunga is a big bud growing as much as 20 feet tall and 10 feet wide

in the wild. And that’s wild, as in “‘wild.” The big Bunga is indigenous

to only one corner of this Earth: the tropical rain forests of Sumatra.

Sumatra, as you know, is a distant and exotic place which is way down in

the, well, you go to Australia, turn right and it’s thousands of miles

past the ... it’s far, OK? And very exotic.

But what really makes the Bunga bodacious is not size, but smell. It

blooms once in a blue moon and when it does, it emits an overpowering and

thoroughly repulsive odor most often described as rotting meat. Thus, its

common name, the corpse flower. Charmed, I’m sure.

Wait, it gets even more repugnant. The corpse flower produces its

distinctive eau du gag scent to attract dung beetles, the creatures that

cross-pollinate girl Bungas and boy Bungas.

The lovely and delicate 250-pound flower was discovered in 1878 by an

Italian botanist named Beccari, who shipped a few seeds back to the Royal

Botanic Gardens.

The first documented bloom in the United States took place at the New

York Botanical Gardens in 1937. When the big stinky did its thing at the

Huntington Library in San Marino last year, it was the 11th recorded

bloom in the U.S.

The blooming corpse flower now on display at Cal State Fullerton’s

arboretum marks the 12th fouling of American air. Hard to believe that

people keep track of these things, but apparently they do.

The real reason I can’t shake this story, though, is that it is another

example of just how wrong I can be. When I first heard about the smelly

Sumatran at the Huntington Library last year, I laughed out loud when the

reporter said Huntington was bracing itself for a crush of curiosity

sniffers that weekend.

“Ridiculous,” I thought, with a mean-spirited mix of sarcasm and derision

(that’s a lot of nuance for a one-word thought). How many people will go

out of their way to see a giant, smelly flower that only a dung beetle

could love?

The correct answer, if you recall, was “thousands.”

People from the Bay Area to San Diego made their way to San Marino to get

a whiff of the Bunga boy. Television crews from around the world jostled

for position. The Monday edition of Beijing’s largest newspaper carried

the story, with photo, on the front page.

Fast forward 10 months, to the Fullerton Arboretum. Same story -- “It’s

big, it’s weird, it smells” -- same result. In Wednesday’s Orange County

Register, front page, color photo. Los Angeles Times? Front page, Orange

County section, color photo.

Obviously, this thing strikes a nerve, olfactory and otherwise, with

people around the world. But why? If you can figure it out, please let me

know.

The intense, global interest in a really big flower that smells really

bad goes directly into my “Grand Miscalculation” file, in which two other

items of local interest are stored.

The first is the Costa Mesa Bark Park. When the idea first came up some

years back, my colleagues on the City Council were much more enthusiastic

about it than I.

What could it hurt, I told myself. Being a very knowledgeable, acutely

perceptive and modest person, I was sure no one would use it. Worse case,

we take the fence down after a few months, reseed the grass, everyone

will see that I was right. I won’t gloat, promise.

Wrong, prosciutto breath! The thing was packed from day one. It was like

the Anniversary Sale at Nordstrom, only everybody brought their dog. I

got “Thank you, Mr. Mayor” letters from dog owners, and a few dogs, from

La Habra to San Clemente.

The other item in the Grand Miscalculation file was my suggestion to add

nine holes to the Costa Mesa golf course. With a system of staggered

play, it would be the equivalent of a third 18-hole course. It would mean

a big revenue boost for the city, plus a nice increase in our permanent

open space.

Is this a great idea, or what? Oh, almost forgot -- we’ll have to move

the miniature railroad on Placentia. What’s not to love?

Wrong again, your Gavelness. It was the political equivalent of the big

Bunga. From the moment the idea bloomed, people staggered backward,

covered their noses with whatever they could find and said, “Oh my god,

what is that smell?”

I got letters and finger-painted posters from schoolkids from Corona del

Mar to Riverside, begging me not to touch the train. The city manager’s

office had to bring in temps to handle the phone threats.

“No, the mayor’s not in. May I take a message? Yes. Uh huh. Yes. With a

staple gun? Yes, I understand. Anything else? Ooo, that’s gotta hurt. OK,

fine. I’ll give him the message. Thank you for calling.”

And now, the latest Grand Miscalculation. Who could possibly be

interested in a 250-pound flower that smells awful? People from here to

China, that’s all.

I still don’t get it.

But if you want to impress a dung beetle, say it with flowers. Just make

sure it’s a big one named Bunga.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column appears Fridays.

He can be reached via e-mail at o7 [email protected] .